


Night at the Museum

by Siff



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: All mistakes are mine, F/M, Gen, More tags to come I think, Night At the Museum AU, No Beta, The Musketeers are wax-figures, Very much a WIP, i dont know how this will end
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 08:24:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9170671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siff/pseuds/Siff
Summary: Charlie is thrilled when he finally gets a job, and even at the museum of a family friend. But his job take a different turn when he is suddenly needed as the night watch. It shouldn’t be a problem.Except that the museum is very different by night.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, the idea for this is old. Like, before season 2 old. But I never got around to it, despite seeing a prompt suggesting a story just like it, which helped it along a bit.  
> Anyway, I have no idea where this is going or how it will go. Don’t know how long either. I’m taking this one chapter at the time. Hope you enjoy.

The façade is small and nearly invisible, squeezed in between two other houses, a book store and an art gallery, both looking much better in every way. But it is there; even though Charlie would have missed it entirely had he blinked, or didn’t have the address written down on his phone.

In faded golden letters above the door, he reads Museum of European Literature. It gives him a sad feeling. Past its prime is an understatement. Still, it’s his best shot, and he did promise his dad he would make an effort.

He stuffs his phone back into his pocket and walks up the few steps to the door. On the door window are the opening hours written in the same faded gold. He sighs. This is just great.

Inside, it’s like a dusty old bookstore. The walls are covered in some old and dark wallpaper with flowers on. The floor has an old carpet on it that doesn’t quite muffle the sound of squeaking wooden floor beneath it. The room itself is like an entrance, bigger than expected but probably only able to hold a dozen people or so. Shelves are on the walls with prizes that says stuff like Attraction of the year 1990 and British Museum of the year 1991. No awards since then. Past its prime, indeed.

Brochure racks are standing in the corners, holding colorful pamphlets and flyers for the more well known museums of London. A table by the wall has a guest book and small porcelain figurines. 

The two windows flanking the door barely give enough light as it is, and the old chandelier hanging from the ceiling is nearly shadowing more than brightening up the place.

The more he looks around in the little entrance, the more Charlie gets a sinking feeling. He nearly hopes Treville will refuse him. Maybe he can get his old job at McDonalds back. 

At the other end of the room is the front desk. Charlie is the only one in the museum – not surprising since it’s barely noon on a Monday – so he goes straight up to it. Behind the desk is a young woman with blond hair pulled up into a bun on top of her head. Several strands have escaped and she seems deeply into the worn copy of Les Miserables she’s reading. Her feet are on the table and her socks are shockingly white and clean. A fine teacup is on the table before her alongside a small plate of biscuits. 

She doesn’t notice him, not until he clears his throat loudly, and it startles her so much, she nearly falls from her chair. She drops her book with a small scream and her feet slams onto the floor.

“Sorry, sorry! I’m sorry!” Charlie quickly says, holding up his hands in a peaceful gesture, and wonder slightly if they ever get a single visitor since he managed to scare her so. 

Several more strands of blond hair have escaped, and it looks a little wild as she tries to get the spinning chair to obey her. She hastily hides her book somewhere beneath the desk and pushes aside her tea and biscuits. She sits up straight in her chair and gives him an unnatural flashing smile. “I apologize for that, Sir. How can I help you?”

“Eh…” says Charlie, a little startled over her sudden attention. “I’m here to see Treville? About a job?”

She blinks at him and then her smile goes down a notch to a more normal level. “Oh, you must be Charlie. Yeah, the old man said you would stop by today.” Her smile is much friendlier now, less fake. Still, Charlie is a little taken aback. Old man? Who in their right mind would dare to call Treville an old man?

Sure, he might not be young, but his temper is nothing to laugh about.

“I’m Anne,” she says and stands up in her chair to shake his hand. He takes it and gives her a smile back. 

“I’m sorry about all that.” She sits back down and finds her book. “I tend to get a bit distracted.”

“No, it’s fine,” Charlie says. “But where can I find Treville.”

“Ah, sorry.” She pushes her chair so she flies across the floor and to a door on her left that Charlie hadn’t even noticed. Still sitting, she opens the door and sticks her head inside and yells loudly for Treville. Someone on the other side yells clear profanities back at her. She yells again, sounding amused and Charlie can hear something being mumbled back. Then she scoots her chair back to the desk, hair flying and with a grin. “He’s coming right out.”

He thanks her and she gives him a nod before propping her feet back up onto the table and opens her books. A few moments later, Treville comes through the door, an annoyed expression on his face. He stops when he sees Anne.

“You’re not supposed to be reading,” he says in a gruff voice. Anne doesn’t even look up from the page; she just waves a hand at him in a way that clearly says later, I’m busy. Treville sighs in defeat and then sees Charlie. The annoyance on his face gives away to surprise and then a pleasant smile. 

“Charles Castlemore,” he grins and holds out a hand which Charlie takes. “All grown up, I see.” Treville looks him over, with a smile not unlike the one his uncle always gives him. His eye almost twitch when Treville says Charles instead of Charlie, but he hides it well.

“Sir,” he says and gives the older man a polite nod. Treville shakes his head.

“None of that. You call me Treville. Everyone else does.” He gestured towards Anne and then at the door he just came through. “Come inside, my boy, and let’s talk.”

He follows Treville behind the desk and as he passes Anne, she glances up from her book, and he can see her mouth Castlemore? with a small grin. He blushes from head to toe and hurries through the door and into the office.

Inside Treville gestured to a chair in front of a desk covered in papers and books, and a computer that’s probably older than Charlie it. The walls around him are covered in pictures of authors and posters for the museum. There were also calendars, schedules and a bunch of other things.

He sits down, and Treville takes the desk chair on the other side. He takes a moment to write something on the computer, and all the while, Charlie feels his palms getting sweaty.

He knows he has to do this, but it still isn’t funny.

Now, it isn’t that Charlie doesn’t like to talk, it’s just he has very few positive things about himself to talk about. Ever since he graduated from the university, he has been jumping from job to job for almost two years now. He doesn’t know if he wants to continue his studies in history, and after he finally got a decent place to live, money has been tight, and an accident got him fired at his last job. Or jobs. 

Finally, his father had had enough, and offered – not at all gone ahead without asking Charlie – to call up some old friends, one of them being Treville. 

Treville and his father had served together, and his dad had heard that his old friend needed some help running his family’s museum. 

So there Charlie is, sitting in a chair in the small office waiting for Treville to ask him about his embarrassing work-history. He almost jerks in is seat when Treville turns from the computer to him.

“So, you want a job here?”

“Yes, S- Treville.”

“Right, I don’t see a problem there. I’m in need of another staff member anyway. But I must warn you. I won’t tolerate tardiness.” He points a long finger at Charlie. “You will not show up to work with a hangover or drunk. You will keep the hours and not slack when working, understood?”

Charlie nods nervously. The hangover thing won’t really a problem, since all his mates are head deep into finals preparations. “Of course, I can do that.” Treville leans back into his chair, seemingly satisfied with his answer. 

“Good enough. The hours are from ten to seven each day, except for Sunday where we close at four. I’ll put together schedule for each month showing when you have to work. You do not leave the museum outside of your lunch break, and you do not bring any kind of alcohol into the building. Understood?”

He nods.

“Good.” Treville smiles, and then goes on explaining what he will be doing in the museum.

It’s all fairly simple. At the moment, he and Anne are the only ones tending the front desk, and when he’s getting the hang of it all, they will usually switch, spending an hour at the time by the desk. Other than that, he just has to smile and be friendly to customers. 

“Well, I think that’s it,” says Treville and Charlie can’t help but rub his damp palms against his thighs. “It’s going to work fine, I think.” He glances at his wrist watch. “Now, I have to go. Why don’t you walk around the museum? Get a feeling the place and then come back tomorrow. Then I’ll walk you through it all. For now, just look around.”

He thanks Treville who hands him a paper where he writes down his address, phone number and email. Then he’s lead from the office and left beside Anne, who has read quite a bit through her book.

“See you tomorrow, Charlie,” Treville says and shakes his hand one last time, before pulling on his jacket. “And say hello to you father from me!” He leaves with a wave and a small reprimand to Anne who still ignores him in favor of her book. He closes the door behind him and Charlie is alone with Anne.

“Congratulations,” she smiles though her eyes are still on the book page. “It’s good to get some more young people on board.”

“What do you mean?” he asks and takes a deep breath; his nerves are still a little fried. He can’t believe he finally got a job. A stable one. 

Anne waves dismissively a hand at him. “You’ll see tomorrow. The Museum is just through there.” She points at a door opening to her right, another one he hadn’t noticed. 

He thanks her and goes into the museum, still feeling light in his whole body. And his palms are still sweaty. 

Still, he can’t help but smile. He got a job. And a decent one, according to what Treville will pay him per hour. He should probably call his dad.

As he ventures into the museum, his joy and enthusiasm dwindles a little. The rest of the building is very much like the entrance hall. Old and dark. It has four floors in all, all connected by the most narrow and terrifying little wooden staircase Charlie has ever climbed. He passes the large welcome sign hanging from the ceiling, along with a short description of the place.

The museum is dedicated to the greatest authors in European history. Or at least in the last few centuries, and Charlie barely knows any of them. His school has a lot to answer for. Of course, he knows Tolkien, Shakespeare and Jane Austin, but that’s mostly thanks to the movies. Others he has no idea who are. It isn’t until he studies the plates that’s placed everywhere with information that he finally learns a little about them.

When thinking about how old the museum is, he has to be a little impressed with it all. Each floor has about four or five authors, all with their little corner dressed up to look like their private homes or studies. Each little scene has – to Charlies outmost horror – one or more wax figures. Most of them are supposed to be the authors themselves, sitting by their desk or looking thoughtfully out a window, but in some scenes their stories are brought more or less to live in the shape a life-size figure. 

There is other stuff too. First copy editions, personal belongings and handwritten notes, all locked away tightly in display cases made of glass. There are small signs screaming DID YOU KNOW? at him, telling him about an author’s favorite pet or what their mother did for a living.

He doesn’t linger too much, since Treville is going to give him the grand tour the following day. He just walks around and tries to get a good feel of the place. It’s old and dusty, the floor creaks with every step, and it could really use some proper light. But other than that – and the really creepy wax figures – it’s kind of nice. It has a homely feeling to it, and Charlie can feel himself relax as he walks from one room to another.

The museum ends on the fourth floor. Here he finds a visitor’s bathroom and more signs in several languages, thanking the visitor for their time, and reminding them to visit the giftshop on their way out. Charlie racks his brain in attempt to remember where in the building a giftshop could possibly be.

It’s also on the fourth floor he finds them, though then and there, he has no idea what they will become to him. Cramped into a corner, between the Grimm-brothers and Victor Hugo, he finds the Alexandre Dumas area. The wax-figure of the man himself is writing in a notebook, but it’s the figures of the three Musketeers behind him that catches Charlie’s eye. Of course, he knows that story. The details are fuzzy but he recalls enjoying the movie were the guy from 24 Hours starred. 

The three wax-figures don’t look like the actors in the movie though. They stand in a half-circle, swords raised so the tips touch. The classic all for one stance. They are dressed in dark leather clothes and all have dark hair that’s hidden beneath large brimmed hats. Two of them are even dark-skinned. 

They are all grinning and looking at the point where their swords meet. Celebrating brotherhood or something. Beside them on the wall is the sign explaining who they are.

Athos, Porthos and Aramis appear in several of Dumas’ books. The most well-known is The Three Musketeers.

It says a whole lot more than that, but deciding he has seen enough for the day, Charlie turns away and goes back to the staircase. He carefully walks as far away from the Grimm-brothers as he can. The black, stuffed wolf snarling at the Little Red Riding Hood looks like something out of a horror movie.

It’s down on the ground floor he finally finds the gift shop. It’s in the corner where one can buy copies of the author’s books, small refrigerator magnets with quotes, figures and small pictures. There’s even candy named ridiculously, like Wuthering Chocolate and Pride and PreJellybeans. He wonders if it’s too late to tell Treville he’s having second thoughts about the job.

The shop seems to be closed but he decides doesn’t need any Aslan shaped licorice, and instead finds his way back to the front desk where Anne has nearly finished her book. She glances up as he enters and lowers her book slightly. 

“What do you think?”

He shrugs, mouth in a half smile. “It’s… something,” he says and Anne snorts.

“No kidding. But it’s good, and Treville is a great boss,” she says. “And it will be nice to have a boy around.”

“Who tends the gift shop?” he asks.

“Oh, that’s Constance,” Anne says. “She’s at the dentist today. You’ll meet her tomorrow.”

He looks around the room. It’s empty, the door to Treville’s office is open slightly but the light is out. The place is quiet, and since he hadn’t seen a single guest, empty except for them. “So… you’re minding this place alone?” he asks. “Is that okay?”

She raises an eyebrow with a bit of a challenge. “It’s Monday before lunch and not even close to the tourist-season. I think I can handle it.” He backs down quickly with a nod and a small smile. She accepts his poor apology and turns one of the last pages of her book. He tilts back and forth on his feet for a few seconds, before feeling too awkward.

“Well,” he says and digs out his phone. It is almost eleven am. “I guess I should be going. See you tomorrow?”

Anne lowers her book. “Sure. See you. Oh, and remember personal papers tomorrow. We need to enter you in the system.”

“Sure,” he says and steps outside into the real world. 

He looks back at the museum. It’s so small and nearly invisible. And it’s his new job. The nervous feeling is coming back, and he can’t help but grin as he walks down the street in search of a bus stop. He got the job. He actually got it. He’s going to work for Treville and with Anne. He can pay his rent now.

Despite the rain, London seems just a little brighter than usual as he makes his way home.


End file.
